


Pale GamKar Month 2015

by FudgingPastry



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:46:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FudgingPastry/pseuds/FudgingPastry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a collection of all the fics I write for Pale GamKar Month. Tags will change as I update this. Chapters are not continuous unless otherwise specified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Pile

You’re nearly knocked off your feet as the meteor gets launched, but you stabilize yourself against one of the glass jars holding the bodies. You wait until you can stand without any trouble and you through Vriska’s body into the jar. You hope she doesn’t mind you tossing her in like that – you are still pissed at what she did to Tavros. You then drag Sollux’s body… wait, this is the dead one, right? The dead dead one. Not the dead living one. You kick it once and when it doesn’t move you shrug and toss it into the next jar. You smile happily and pat it, telling it that everything will be okay soon.

You look down at your arms and frown. Got too much motherfucking blood all over you. Fuck, Vriska’s blood is already drying on you. It’s drying on top of Tavros’ and no way, you can’t have that. You resist the urge to scratch her blood off you and jog down to the ablution block to wash off. You wash off your arms, honking softly to yourself. You lift your wet hands up and watch the remaining blood trickle down your arms. You blink and sigh, one hand coming to your face and papping it gently.

You jerk back when you hear an angry voice muttering down the hall and you stick your head out to see Karkat walking towards you. He doesn’t see you; his head is down and he’s muttering to himself and you hear a couple hateful words directed at himself. He stops and you hear a sniffle and you can’t take it anymore. Without even drying your hands, you run up to him and wrap your arms tight around his body.

Immediately, he tries to push you away and he calls out for help and you can’t do anything but stand there all confused. Aren’t you two moirails? Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do when your palebro needs calming? Oh wait, you’re supposed to pap him and shoosh him. You try and get a hand up, but you’re afraid you’ll drop him and—he just slumped down. Why did he just slump?

“Oh forget it. What does it even matter anymore? If you’re going to decapitate me, can you do it quick? Otherwise I think I’m going to break down again.”

“What the motherfuck are you talking about? I’m not here to spill your miracle blood, best friend. I—“

“No, you know what?” Karkat wriggles free of your arms and stumbles back a little when he hits the ground. “Stop talking like that! Gamzee, you just killed like half of our friends! Or our teammates or whatever the hell this clusterfuck was supposed to be. Okay no, I guess Eridan killed a couple too, but I… I… I can’t deal with your goddamn clown ass right now, do you understand? What the… What the hell are you doing? Get the fucking hell away from me right fucking now, do you understand me you festering pan-leak, dumbass—“

“Shoosh. Shoosh, best friend shoosh.” You pap his face gently, uncertain. He stares at you and you can tell he wants to be mad at you and you know you’d probably want to be mad too, if you were him. But you’re motherfucking you and he’s trembling all over the place. “Let me take you to pile, best friend. Cleaned it all up and motherfucking nice. No blood on the walls or nothing. Come on.” You hold out your hand and he hesitates for a long while. You wait patiently and finally, motherfucking finally, he takes your hand and you lead him back to your horn pile. You get him settled in all nice and you notice how he looks nervously around at the computers and at the walls. You go to one of the computers and get it to play some nice, soft music.

He visibly relaxes with the music, but he’s still staring around at the walls. You did clean it up and you grab a strip of cloth. When he sees you with it, he moves to get out of the pile.

“No, best friend, no. I’m not gonna do nothing bad to you. Just gonna make it so you can’t see the walls or nothing. If you’re not up and okay with that, I’ll drop the cloth. Just thought that it’d help a brother out.” Karkat tells you drop the blindfold and you do. You can tell he doesn’t trust you and slowly, you crawl into the pile with him and pap his face. You let him get comfortable with you and you wait until he wants to jam. You tell him that you’re not gonna force him to jam with you; you tell him you’re not about that lifestyle.

Eventually he does start talking. He talks about what just happened with meeting the humans and finding out that they were going to be launched toward some unknown thing. Three human years of darkness. Three whole goddamn years. He continues on, going back through the time they watched the humans grow and live. You add in some anecdotes from your end of that mess. He goes through the entirety of your session and when he trails off at one point, you bring up the time that Eridan somehow got caught in a tree and how you all spent hours trying to get him down without ripping his cape.

“Yeah, I remember that! Equius finally got him down by unearthing the entire tree! Oh fuck, I forgot about that!” He slaps your shoulder, laughing, and you grin. His laughter dies down and he scoots away from you. “You killed him. And Nepeta.” Your grin drops from your face and the air around you goes tense. You nod and wipe your hand over the scratches in your face.

“I… Yeah, I did, best friend.”

“What the hell happened to you?” You can’t answer him. You hide your face and you curl away from him and you can’t answer him. You don’t know if you ever will. You hear him sigh and he presses into your side. “You can tell me later. All I want to do now is go the fuck to sleep.” He throws an arm around you and you wrap him up in your arms once he stops flinching from your touch.


	2. Horns

There’s this thing about Gamzee: they love horns. They love all types of horns, from bullhorns to bike horns to horny toads to real, actual horns. Whenever Karkat curls up next to them, especially after a heavy feelings jam, they like to rub his horns. They rub them softly, gently, and carefully. The first time Gamzee rubbed his horns, Karkat squawked loudly and shoved them aside. With such small horns, Karkat’s were still fairly sensitive, even at the tip. Gamzee made sure to be careful after that point and they make sure to only rub his horns – or anyone’s horns – in private. They don’t want to sit through _another_ lecture on why horn rubbing was so… intimate. They remember the first time they rubbed his horns out of hive. Oh, the looks they received…

♋

“Gamzee, what in the GRUBFUCK ARE YOU DOooo oh fuck that’s ni— WHAT THE FUCK GAMZEE?” Karkat grabbed Gamzee’s hands and hurled them over the top of his head. They landed on their back with an ‘oof’ and looked up at their moirail.

“What’d I do, best friend?” Karkat glared down at them, only to look up when he heard something clicking in disapproval. He glared daggers at the lusus that covered its wriggler’s eyes as they passed the two. Gamzee tugged at his leg and he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Gamzee, what did I tell you last time about horn rubbing.”

“Oh! I know this one! You said how much you liked it and how it got you all up and wiggly and melty and mmmph!” Karkat clamped a hand over their mouth, hissing at them to be quiet.

“Not that, you pan-addled, skinny, useless sack of bones. What I mean is… Gamzee, if that wriggling wet thing poking my hand is your tongue, put that back in your mouth or I’ll rip it out.” They looked up at his glare with wriggler barkbeast eyes. When that didn’t work, their tongue retreated from his hand and let him finish.

“Horn rubbing is an intimate practice between two lovers, typically red or pale lovers. It’s typically considered foreplay, either for pailing or for intense feel jams. Therefore, it’s inappropriate to do it _outside_ of the hive. Unless you’re one of the kinky fucks who likes to force people into their scenes. We, you goddamn clown, are not one of those kinky fucks. At least I’m not. Now for the last time, no horn rubbing outside of hive. Got it?”

“Clear as night, best friend!” Karkat sighed and helped them to their feet and led them back hive.

♑

When Karkat shifts underneath them, they jolt out of their thoughts and back to their moirail. Looks like he fell asleep. Gamzee smiles and wraps their lanky body around him. They press their lips to the tips of Karkat’s horns and curl up and fall asleep. Karkat opens his eyes to stare at them as they sleep. He reaches out and rubs one of their horns. They murmur in their sleep and he smiles, whispering softly to them before going back to sleep.


	3. Forgiveness

You hardly remember who you are when he finally finds you.

You’ve been looking for him for days, weeks, sweeps, minutes, who actually knows how long you’ve been looking? Messiahs, do they even know how long it’s been? You’ve gone and lost yourself, hidden deep back in your fucked up pan. You count on your fingers and toes and it’s still not enough. You’ve gone and apologized to everyone – motherfucking _everyone_ – you fucked over. You’ve gone to all the Nepetas and all the Equiuses and all the Kanayas, Eridans, Feferis, Solluxes, Tavros…

Your fingers tremble and shake and you fall to your knees with a sob. The last Tavros you found, you don’t even know if he was from your timeline, but what does it matter? He stared at you and he called you a freak that deserved to die. He pushed you aside and told you he never wanted to see you again and how your apology was worth nothing to him. It tore you up inside. Fucked over your already fucked over pan. You let the dreambubble take you where it wanted to go and you laid there on the ground like the worthless worm you are.

You cover your face and you wail. You went and looked for forgiveness and what did they give you? Hate, anger, sadness, and you saw that you did not deserve forgiveness. You don’t deserve any of this. Nothing. You only deserve whatever paradox space has in store for you and your miserable clown ass. You don’t even deserve to keep looking for him. Why would he even want to see you after what you did?

“G-Gamzee?”

You sob and you press your hands into your face harder. You don’t deserve him. You never did. You freaked out and killed them all and got yourself under her control and you killed them all and—

“Gamzee, oh my god, is that you?”

A hand touches your shoulder and you can feel his heat even through your clothes. You shake your head and try to scoot away. You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve him. You don’t—

The hand squeezes tight – red hot iron tight – and you lift your head. As your gaze locks onto his, you feel like you’re thrown into reverse and you see the whole mess you caused and you see him like a ball of red hot fire shining and burning like a white hot star in your mind. You want to reach out to him. You want to grab him and wrap your arms around him and never let him go. Instead, your voice goes all choked and broken and you stumble toward him. The voice in the back of your mind whispers at you and it tells you how you don’t deserve him. It tells you that he’ll turn you away like they all did. It tells you that he’ll tell you that he never wants to see you again.

You don’t think you could bear hearing that from him.

Your body shakes as it tries to move towards him, but you pull it back. You try to run away, but you get all caught up in your feet and you fall to the ground. That’s when you curl in on yourself and you try to will the dreambubble away, will it to take you away from him.

“Gamzee, oh god, Gamzee, what the hell?” He comes over to you and he grabs your shoulder and he forces you to look at him. He jerks back when he sees the dead-white of your eyes and you shake and tremble and you close your eyes because he stands like a star and you feel like a worthless pile of bones. His hand moves away and you think he’s going to leave you to rot when his hands come up to your face and pap you all soft-like. He paps you pale and he shooshes the quiet wails coming from your mouth.

You flail and try to brush his hands away because you gotta tell him. You gotta tell him before he realizes how much he should hate you and he leaves. You gotta gotta gotta—

“… gotta…” He stops shooshing you as you try to force the words from your throat. You can feel tears pouring down your face, washing away your fucked up paint. “Gotta tell you… Best friend…” You voice breaks at ‘friend’ and his dead-white eyes are wide.

“I’m… I’m motherfucking sorry, Karbr—Karkat. I’m all motherfucking _sorry_.” It feels like your body’s breaking into pieces and all of you is pouring out for all to see. Karkat’s hands drop from your face and you choke on your sobs. It’s time. He’s gonna get up and away from you. He’s gonna tell you that you don’t deserve him, that you deserve the worst punishment imaginable dealt to you tenfold. You fucking killed him and you don’t deserve his forgiveness.

His hands cup your face and he rubs away your tears with his thumbs. He pulls you into his lap and he rubs away your paint and you sit there and sob. He doesn’t turn you away and he doesn’t tell you he never wants to see you again. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t say anything at all. He bends down and kisses your head. When he finally does speak, your pan goes blank and if your bloodpusher was going, it’d stop.

“I forgive you, you fucking dumbass clown. What do you think I’ve been doing? I’ve been looking all over for you and once I find you, you try and run away from me. You… goddamn… clown.” Something warm drops onto your cheeks and when you look up at him, he’s crying. You reach up with a shaky hand and you pap his face back. He grabs your hand, tight like irons, and presses it soft against his face. He runs his fingers through your mess of hair and his hand comes up with two fingers spread wide in a sideways V. With all of you crying and hoping in the midst of your sobs, you complete the diamond.

“Pale as bones,” he whispers.

“Pale as stars.” You finish.


	4. Red

It’s the color you remember the most. It’s the color you see when you wake up frantic and panting, your pupils blown wide in terror from your dreams. It’s the color you see when you look down at your hands and no matter how much you try to wash them, the mutant color never leaves. You see it so often you could have sworn the color ran through your veins.

But you’re cold. Too cold to be red. Too warm to be violet. You are as you have always been: purple like the messiahs and their tents. You paint your face and you ignore the swirls of red behind your eyes. You close your eyes and you still remember your dream. You still remember him – whoever the motherfuck _he_ is – jumping at you, his weapon raised and you remember how you grabbed him and…

You close your eyes. You set down your brush and you pap your face. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re watching pale porn and trying to calm yourself down from that. But there’s this feeling of pale in your pumpbiscuit and you know you once had a moirail. Somewhere deep inside you, you know you did. As you go and do your holy work, your fucked up pan stays locked on him. You smash heretics’ heads in and your mind focuses on red. Red, red, red, so red you think you mind go mad. So red you’d be afraid to say you were flushed – flushed head to foot in your purple as you wonder what he was do. But flushed ain’t what you’re looking for. Flushed is a thing you don’t quite have a want for.

What you do want is hot – hotter than a heretic’s blood – hands on your face. Hot hands pressed into your cheeks and hot hands tangled in your hair and hot hands smoothing and soothing your horns and hot hands papping you so hard it almost feels like a slap.

Your head snaps to the side as the sound of a cold hand against cold skin rings out through the room. You lift your gaze to the schoolfeeder as they glare down their nose at you. You lower your gaze in respect and humility and turn your other cheek to them. They slap you hard and your cheek flushes in your shame. Even as the pain makes its way to your brain, all you can think about is the warmth of their hands against your face.

~

It’s been sweeps since you last dreamed about him and you’re colder than the stars you fly amongst. You don’t see red as much anymore, but when you catch your assignment, her blood is jade. Something in you, something deep down inside your pan twitches in recognition, but you can’t figure it out, you can’t remember why…

Until she lifts her head and she whispers your name like it’s a curse to be muttered in breathless awe and you see something in her that makes your hands shake. You see him. You see red and you have to step back. Red, red, red, so much red. Blood on your hands. Blood of all shades on your hands and you’re trembling. You’re shaking and you remember red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red…

~

Your eyes meet with her glasses and she grins at you. You remember her teeth and you snarl. You see teal behind her red-tinted glasses and you know in an instant she remembers you too. She grabs you later and claws up your arms until you see purple and you remember. You claw down her arms and you see teal and you _remember._ As she leaves, she pressed a note into your hands and when you look down it’s a name and a trollian handle.

~

Amidst the cat puns and slight roleplaying, a message pops up with your name on it. You check your paint and you check your clubs and you report to the higher ups. They hand you a report and tell you that you will be chasing down this one alone. They tell you that they think you can handle this one. They warn you of a psionic, but you have control of your chucklevoodoos and you lick your lips as the excitement builds within you. You promise you will do well with this assignment. They retort and they tell you that if you do not complete this assignment, they will throw you from the ship and let you hurtle down toward the homeworld.

Your belongings are packed into a compartment in your shuttle and you blast through space, your grin wide and excited. Once far enough away from the ship, you open up the file holding your assignment and

You stop.

You stop. Your pumpbiscuit stops. Your breathing stops.

Your pan stops.

You see red.

Your pan starts up again.

You see red.

Your pan goes through all your dreams and all you can remember and _you see red._ All you can see is red and something in your pan snaps. Something deep inside you rushes to the surface and it takes all of your control to not smash your head into the shuttle’s control panel.

You remember. You remember. You remember everything.

Him, her, them, everyone. The game. The Lord. The Muse. The game. Her whisper in your ears. His eyes staring into your being. Blood on your hands. Fear in your mouth. His screams through the vents. Red.

You see red and you remember. You remember the game. You remember him.

 You remember him.

Hands on the controls, you track him. You track the psionic’s signature. You track down your red little firecracker. As you hurtle through space, you remember everything. You go through the days, the years you spent hurting him and it breaks your mind apart. You forget how many times you cried. You forget how many times you shrieked his name like an animal. You forget how many times you saw red. You forget to quieten your voice when you find him. You forget that he doesn’t remember. You wonder if he ever will.

~

It’s the color you remember the most. It’s the color you see when you wake up frantic and panting, your pupils blown wide in terror from your dreams. Red is hotter than a heretic’s blood and it’s soothing where it should be scalding when it touches your face. You close your eyes and feel his hands on your face. You hear his voice, quieting you down from your panic from a lifetime ago. He reaches up and he kisses you. He kisses you paler than the cold stars surrounding you. You don’t remember when you started crying whenever he touches you. But when you open your eyes, all you see is red.

It’s the color you remember the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from an AU that I may or may not finish. Post-Sgrub, trolls lost their memories type deal.


End file.
